nostalgia is a cruel and benevolent god
by haveyounomercy
Summary: Freed watches them and sees a fire that burns so hot it numbs every one of his senses. Mirajane/Laxus, one shot.


**A/N:** The Mirajane/Freed battle is and has been one of my favourites of the whole series. Also I really like Freed in general so.

This is set somewhere after the Tartaros arc.

* * *

Freed watches them and sees a fire that burns so hot it numbs every one of his senses.

Laxus is the outer shell, the yellow tips of the flames that dance and twirl wildly with no guidelines. He is unpredictable, yet contained. In this moment, amid the hustle and bustle of Fairy Tail, Freed is taken back to the old Raijinshuu days.

The days before the bitterness of war and poison had stained his lungs, before the blond had torn apart at the very guild he had grown to hate, Laxus was a shining flame.

No one seems to talk about those days, but Freed remembers.

Freed remembers the Laxus that was more carefree, or perhaps care _less_ is the apter term. The one that formed the Raijinshuu out of the loners of Fairy Tail, the loners that never really quite understood what the guild mark branded on their bodies really meant to them. At that time, when Evergreen was haughtier, and Bixlow felt alone in his instability, and Freed just desperately wanted anywhere to belong, Laxus was there.

He didn't care much about them at first. They had all went on a mission together, more out of necessity than anything else. Bixlow and Evergreen had already been a team, but the Master had pushed Freed and Laxus to join for reasons Freed still hasn't grasped.

And it had been in the mountains. Everything was cold. The frozen weather had eaten at them all, gripping at their wounds and staining their cheeks with a harsh red that made Freed reminisce of the tomatoes back home where it was warm and safe. The enemies had been tough, too tough for Bixlow and Evergreen who had yet to become the battle-hungry mages that they were today.

Freed remembers his fingers, clumsy and panicked, etching out the script for a protective seal while trying to block out the sound of his teammates' screams. He remembers putting up a barrier and wondering, despairing, worrying, if this was the end.

And then he remembers, in vivid detail, as Laxus _punched a hole straight through his barrier_.

Freed remembers dropping to his knees, the screams of Ever and Bixlow behind him fading, as Laxus plowed through to the monster in front of them and defeated him in a roar of lightning and fearlessness. He remembers the sharp sting of the feeling that they had failed him, that Laxus had saved them and they had watched helplessly.

But when Laxus returned to them, bloodied and victorious, the blonde did nothing but flash them a smug grin.

" _What're you all surprised about, you babies?"_

He remembers all this and more; the burning shame of not being good enough alongside the fiery resolution to grow stronger, to become someone who Laxus might one day depend on. And in that day, a fire grew in his heart, (in all their hearts,) a fire that was fueled by Laxus that made them all feel alive again.

Freed remembers this. And he watches, knowing that he is the only member in the guild watching, as Mirajane leans across the bar to whisper with a smile into Laxus' ear.

He watches Laxus snort, clearly amused, before grabbing his drink from her outstretched hand with no gentleness.

He watches as Laxus, despite seeming annoyed at her teasing, not make any move to leave the bar.

* * *

And he remembers the first time the trio first announced the formation of the Raijinshuu to Laxus, all bright eyed and eager to please.

He remembers Laxus being incredulous and laughing, mockingly dismissing their puppy-dog worship.

Freed remembers working his way to the blonde's side, through years of keeping his mouth shut and learning which type of anger cued his departure and which type urged his presence. Freed remembers the first time Laxus had fully addressed them all as 'a team' and the surge of pride and warmth that had erupted from his soul when it had happened.

Freed still feels it today; when he looks at Laxus, his heart beats so fast and furious and strong and he knows that he would do _anything_ for him.

Across the guild, Laxus lowers his hand from his glass to rest it on the bar counter, all calloused and roughened from years of fighting for a power that could destroy and protect the world.

Mirajane talks, and Freed knows it's about everything and nothing and Laxus would hate it coming from anyone other than her. But they talk in low smiles and soft jokes and something akin to a forest fire spreads in Freed. It stings and pricks the insides of his chest and hands and legs and _everywhere_ but it also feels so right because they look so gentle and…

She takes one hand to push her long curls back from her face and behind her shoulder, pale on pale. He knows that her hands are just as, if not more, hardened from battle and tragedy than anyone else's. Freed watches as her hand then moves slowly from her hair down to the counter, where the tips of her fingers, so small yet so full of strength, barely grazes the ends of Laxus'.

And Freed sees the tiny smile that tugs at the corner of the dragon slayer's lips, one that Freed recognizes but has never been the subject of.

He then looks at Mirajane, and draws in a small breath. Her eyes, so full of warmth and forgiveness, are a deep blue that reminds him of the very feeling of comfort. He breathes out as he continues to look at her, a sight beyond breathtaking as she looks at Laxus.

Freed remembers those same blue eyes staring him down, boring holes into his torn soul, and forces himself to look away from the pair. (Just for a minute.)

* * *

Mirajane is the white, blue flame in the very centre of the fire, the steady core that scorches fiercer and deeper to all those who touch it.

It has been many long years since the festival that nearly ripped Fairy Tail open from the inside out, but Freed remembers.

Freed remembers the weight of her power against his body, the pain he had once inscribed across her brother's chest, the anguish of hoping and distressing that the demon in her might awaken again.

(Because he, above anyone else, had known that they had gone too far.)

He doesn't remember exactly when he had realized it; had it been at the beginning when he had seen the frozen statues of his friends, or when Juvia had sacrificed herself for a family that had welcomed her in a world that didn't, or was it somewhere in between the countless fights he forced to occur under his very eyes?

But Freed had known, had always known, that he would never be able to stop Laxus. Be it by strength or will, there was no part of Freed that he could imagine that could ever stand up and refuse the blonde.

And so he had carried on.

Yet Freed was no fool, he knew what he was doing. He heard Mirajane's pleas as clear as he heard Elfman's cries, and their discordant screams had painted him a very unwelcome picture of the sibling that had once been thought to be long gone; he took on the sadness of all of the Strauss siblings with little less than a blink of an eye for Laxus.

He hadn't known himself whether he had wanted to unleash the demon's fury or whether he had wanted to see her break. He knew, however, that it was only with Mirajane that he could decide what course of action his own loyalty to Laxus would take him.

And when she had taken his very fate in the claws of her demonic hands, Freed remembers being at peace with his decision to leave the world and leave the Laxus that he knew he had failed. He had failed him too many times, the last one being the failure to stop him from wreaking the havoc that had turned even his best friends against him.

He knew, deep down, that the Raijinshuu could face the world with Laxus alone.

But it wasn't a mutual dependency.

Freed remembers being struck with the weight of his failure, the harsh realization of his shortcomings as a right-hand man biting and tearing into him more viciously than the attacks he had only barely survived from the demon mage moments earlier. He remembers all of the pain singing into every bone of his body, and himself begging for the release of his sins in death just as he looked up into Mirajane's eyes right as she reverted back into her human self.

" _This battle… it's so meaningless, don't you think?"_

At that moment, Freed had wanted nothing more than to be buried deep into the ground, ablaze in an agony so cruel that could ensure his escape from the physical and mental fight that he had lost to the guild, to his best friend, and to himself.

So he had begged for death. He had begged for mercy, in what he had thought been the only way possible. When that hadn't worked, he taunted her with his anger. He projected his bitterness, clinging to his beliefs in Laxus as the only thing he had left that he wasn't doubting, that he felt like wasn't broken.

And Freed remembers that Mirajane had looked at him, with a tenderness that pierced deeper than all her blows, and she had smiled.

Freed remembers how that smile had saved his life.

Mirajane's smile has saved countless of lives, he thinks now, as he watches the two continue to engage in amiable conversation (her long sentences occasionally interrupted by his gruff utterances). He still recalls the easy warmth it had washed over him, a person who had moments before prayed for death, and he remembers crying tears so hot it had felt like he was leaving scars on his face to match the ones he had procured during the battle.

And yet again, he had looked at his saviour and decided that _he would get stronger_. So strong that he would never again have to force Mirajane to fight or to cry, and strong enough to maybe one day leave Laxus' side.

But at that moment, lying underneath the slight body that had beaten him down, he felt _safe_. And he felt her affection wash over him, lighting a fire in his heart, and keeping him afloat amidst his will to return to what once was against his utter devotion to Laxus.

And she had seen that in him, and taken every last part of him in acceptance.

Freed remembers feeling the heat of a love that seemed so familiar yet so foreign. And he remembers discarding the confusion ( _Mirajane_ , of all people?) and the pain (it would be another unrequited love, no doubt), to close his eyes and breathe in the smell of lilac and sweat and blood and tears.

He remembers feeling, under her smile, a happiness that he had not found within himself in a long time.

* * *

In the current, Mirajane has nudged her hand forward to rest her fingers on the knuckles of Laxus, who only smirks and takes another sip with his free hand. This is, to Freed, a compromise that should mean the world to Mirajane.

And he watches as Mirajane smiles just a bit wider, and he feels the slow burn in his chest to be one of happiness and disarray but never quite jealousy. In his heart of hearts he never felt the love he carried within him justified a return, nor did he ever believe in himself to be enough for any of the two.

It still strikes him, how he can be so completely in love with two people who are hopelessly in love with each other.

But as he watches them, right now, he feels himself smiling as the two across the guild smile. He knows that he is alone, more so than ever, when watching them alone, yet he feels comforted by his memories.

He is comforted by the memory of the back of the boy who fought monsters and demons for him, by the memory of the woman who beat his own senselessness into him and forgave him nonetheless, and he is comforted by the fact that in this minute they have forgotten about the imminent war and the tragedies of the past and everything else except each other.

But Freed remembers. And he is content.


End file.
